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Sometimes you get exactly what you ask for and it’s still nothing like you expected.
We’d met through friends and had been together for almost two and a half years. It was my longest relationship by far but not quite hers. Having moved in together several months earlier I felt like an actual adult for the first time and we were both enjoying the simple, novel pleasure of domesticity. We knew each other without knowing everything and that soft shadow of mystery was enough to maintain excitement. The dynamic between us was still developing too especially now that we were living together. She had always struck me as confident and intelligent, even a little intimidating in some ways, and she was those things but she was also playful and caring and sometimes careless and so many other things besides.
Most importantly, I trusted her. Which is why I’d been more open with her about my thoughts and fantasies than I would ever have imagined. I’d randomly told her I was turned on by the idea of her with other guys one night after we’d come home from a bar. She was amused more than anything but not judgemental. Over the following months she’d engaged with my fantasy, told me about her past when I asked, and teased me about it. It took time though for her to understand it and to trust my intentions. After that she was more curious, interested in where I drew the lines, what scenarios I thought about. It was still a game really even if I was mildly obsessed. In moments of seriousness she reminded me that she wasn’t going to seek it out, it would probably never happen, and if it did it would only be because she wanted it to. I insisted I understood while my imagination and greedy libido went into overdrive.
During university she’d spent a year studying abroad and the wedding invitation was from a couple who were some of the friends she’d made there. They were having the wedding in Germany and she quickly decided to go accepting that I didn’t want to. I didn’t know the people and I didn’t speak the first language of most of the guests. Of course I’d also immediately started imagining what could happen with her away on her own with friends, and of course she’d known that. We talked about it but she would never let me get carried away, never go too far with the fantasy of it. It frustrated me slightly at the time but later I understood that she’d been trying to manage me. To stop me putting pressure on her to make something happen. To stop me being disappointed when it didn’t. She understood the emotions of it so much better than I did. But she played a little, telling me about some of the guys who might be there, a few she’d flirted with years ago, asking me which dress she should wear and which underwear underneath. Even with all her reality checks I couldn’t help but feel an intense anticipation, like being a child again and not being able to contain yourself as Christmas approaches.
The wedding took place towards the end of spring at a venue outside the city with a huge barn and surrounded by luscious outdoor space and trees. She’d flown out the day before and travelled to a hotel nearby. Even waking in the morning I felt nervous and had to tell myself to stop being stupid. That it was crazy to be this excited about the slightest possibility of an idea. We exchanged a few messages about nothing in particular but I make sure not to talk about what I’m thinking. I don’t want to make her day with friends about my desires. I don’t want to seem desperate. Before she leaves the hotel she sends me a photo of her dressed up. There’s no caption. She’s just smirking in the mirror. She looks incredible in the dress, all curving lines and suggestive reveals.
The afternoon trickles by and it is torturous. I realise how stupid I was not to make plans of my own. I try to watch a film and find myself checking my phone every five minutes. After half an hour I realise I have no idea what’s going on and turn the tv off. I remind myself again I’m being foolish. I ask her how it’s going wondering what if she can hear what I’m really asking, knowing full well that she can. The ceremony was beautiful. Just catching up with friends now before dinner. I go for a run and get rained on. A welcome excuse to shower and pass a little more time. I fight the temptation to wank and unload. The truth is that I love this feeling, the nervousness and anxiety and uncertainty, the feeling of being on the edge of something, off-balance.
It’s dark outside when her next message arrives. I showed my tits to someone. He’s a friend and wanted to see them. I stare at my phone. I’ve imagined so many different possibilities. This wasn’t one of them. It’s so direct. So clear and unclear at the same time. My heart is thudding in my chest but I don’t know what it means. I ask her. A little while later I get a response. That he’s someone she already knew. He’s one of the guys she flirted with occasionally back when they were studying together. He asked her to meet him again in an hour. The adrenaline has my hands shaking a little. I ask what she’s going to do but my phone looks at me blankly in reply.
So I wait because there’s nothing else I can do. I lie on the sofa and stare at the ceiling. I wonder what she’s doing or if I’ve made a monumentally stupid mistake. I’m so hard it aches. An impossibly long wait later my phone lights up again.
Well that was fun she says.
She offers nothing more until I ask, desperately, what happened. I can see the hunger in my words but I can’t stop. It’s the sort of thing she does sometimes, especially after a drink, a small act of control and cruel teasing. She also knows I can’t help but love it.
We kissed for a long time and he felt me up. And then I sucked him off. Yes really. Going to dance now. Talk later x
Just like that I’m left alone with my thoughts. I want to ask a thousand questions, to hear every little detail. But she’s at a wedding with friends and she’s enjoying herself and she’s not about to sit and talk to me for the rest of the evening. Somehow I had never considered that if anything happened there would be this empty period afterwards. The excitement is still bubbling over but there is this void of not being able to talk about it. I can’t untangle the feelings I have. It takes several hours for me to be calm enough to fall asleep.
It’s only the next day after she’s had some time to soothe her hangover that we talk as she takes the train back to the city.
They’d both been part of that friend group when they were students but not super close. They’d flirted but he’d had a girlfriend that year so nothing much had happened. But he had asked to feel her tits on a couple of nights out and she’d let him, once in a club and once in a small side street as they were on their way to a party. They’d stood close and he’d slipped his hand up her top and cupped and caressed her while telling her how amazing they were. I’d never heard about this before and found it strangely innocent and brazen.
At the wedding they’d talked within within the group, all catching up, and only after dinner and a few glasses of wine had they spoken alone, reconnecting. He’d said that her tits still looked amazing and he always wished he’d seen them. So would she show him? And because she’d always liked his boldness she’d agreed.
They’d met at one of the outbuildings which had been open and light during the day but had been closed off as the evening came. Slipping inside giggling, she said she’d felt like a teenager sneaking away to misbehave and she’d liked that feeling. There was only a small light inside as he smiled and asked her to show him. She’d tried to ease the straps off her shoulders slowly, enticingly, wanting him to enjoy it, remembering how she’d found him so attractive before. Then she’d unclipped her bra and let it fall away, letting him see, letting him reach out and touch her, lifting and lightly squeezing her gorgeous breasts. Despite the thrill and her increasing arousal they both seemed to hesitate and before anything more happened he told her how sexy she was and helped her redress.
As they’d stepped back out into the night, they’d made a little conversation and then he’d asked her to meet him there again in an hour. I have a boyfriend you know. She wasn’t sure why she’d said it, possibly as a challenge to him, but she knew her smile and tone gave her away. He’d simply shrugged and said he’s not here is he.
When she came back he was there waiting and looking, she thought, quite smug. Still, she let him take her hand and lead her inside. They were kissing almost immediately, him backing her up against a wall and letting his hands roam and wander. He started sliding the straps off her shoulders again and had her bra off as quickly as he could, grabbing her tits firmly how she liked and leaning down to lick her nipples. His hand found its way under her dress and into her already soaked underwear. She could feel him hard against her thigh and started to grope him through his suit, loving the sounds she drew from him. It was him who started to unzip his trousers but she turned him against the wall and helped ease them down as she slid to the floor. If he’d pulled her up to fuck at any time she’d have let him. But they both seemed to want this tonight so she stayed on her knees, the top of her dress pulled down around her waist and her bra discarded on the floor, sucking his cock until he emptied his load down her throat.
I asked if she’d been thinking about me at all while she was with him. Not really. I was kind of occupied. It was another reminder that it wasn’t just about my fantasy. But there was a moment while I was going down on him when I looked up and had this little realisation. Like how it was so different to being with you. Seeing him, his smell, his hand on me, his voice. I moaned a little reading that.
Finally allowing myself some release, I collapsed in a stupor as we said quick goodbyes and she headed to the apartment she was staying in for the next couple of nights. Of course, that wasn’t the end of it. They kept talking and she saw him again before coming home. Those five days felt like a lifetime. Seeing her again she was exactly who I’d loved before and much, much more. I felt such an intense mix of love and lust and doubt and jealousy it was dizzying yet it only took a little time for us to settle again, easing back into the familiar shape of our life together, unable to comprehend how this new raw edge might change it.
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